The Most Dangerous Son of Man
by Caretaker13
Summary: Set before the series proper, this story tells the tale of Vanessa and Sir Malcolm's first experience hunting things that are beyond human. It also asks the question, what does it mean to be human? Are we closer to the beasts or the angels? Enjoy, and feel free to leave comments.


**The Most Dangerous Son of Man**

**Part One - The Jungle**

It had only been a week since Vanessa Ives had moved into Sir Malcolm Murray's London house, and yet she felt like that bare upstairs room had been her cell for much longer than that. Every day she prayed in front of the simple crucifix on the wall that she had brought there with her from her family home in the countryside. She prayed for herself and for her friend, Sir Malcolm's daughter, Mina, who at that very moment was in some grave and mysterious danger. In the evenings she would dine downstairs with Sir Malcolm, prepared and served by his only servant, the African valet, Sembene. They would talk very little, and when they did, it was almost exclusively about Mina; what their next step in getting her back would be. Then Vanessa would go back upstairs to sleep in her simple bed and toss and turn all night, tormented by visions of things seen only by those that are damned or mad. Every day and night it was the same routine. It had gotten to the point where she thought she might go fully mad if she had to look up from her bed in the morning and see that same crack in the ceiling above her.

She opened her eyes on Friday morning and there it was, that crack, that ceiling, those walls, that crucifix, watching her, judging her, or so she thought. Judging her for being stagnant. Then, out of the silence, something very different did happen. There was a knock at her bedroom door.

"Come... in," she said, still in a sleepy daze.

The door opened slowly and in walked Sir Malcolm, fully dressed in a dark three-piece tweed suit, while she lay under the covers in nothing but a white linen nightgown.

"Sir Malcolm," she said in surprise. She sat up and looked at him with knitted brow.

"I'm sorry to come to you while you're still in your bedclothes," he said softly, in his deep growl of a voice. "I know it's unconventional. I can come back later if you like..."

"I think if I'm to live here with you in this place and engage in the type of behavior necessary for the task we are to undertake, you and I must become more comfortable putting convention aside," said Vanessa.

She had seen this man having sex once. Many years ago, so for her it was much easier to ignore the social mores of the time when it came to Sir Malcolm. For him, though, every interaction with Vanessa had been nothing but awkward since she had come knocking on his door to tell him of the danger she feared Mina was in. He was a stoic, old fashioned man who kept things close to his chest.

"Yes, well..." he said and then trailed off as he approached her bed and pulled some paper out of his waistcoat pocket. He looked at it for a moment as if he'd forgotten what it said and then forcefully handed it to her. It was a pamphlet.

"I usually don't see you until evening supper and I wanted to bring this to your attention before then, should you decide to accompany me," he said.

Vanessa looked at the pamphlet, covered in many different, eye-catching fonts.

It read:

_The Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland_

_Presents_

_An evening with __Professor Archimedes Q. Porter _

_Whereupon shall be exhibited his findings from the jungles of South America and darkest Africa_

_With an opening speech on the subject of biology_

_By_

_Dr. Mathias Moreau_

_As well as the unveiling of one of the most astounding medical curiosities found in modern times since Joseph Merrick, The Elephant Man!_

"Very sensational," Vanessa said, glibly, and handed the pamphlet back to Sir Malcolm.

"Would you be interested in going?" asked Sir Malcolm.

Vanessa stared at him blankly.

"Why on Earth would I want to waste an evening attending an exhibition when we should be figuring out how best to find Mina?" she asked, more angrily than she had intended, but her anger and frustration had been building for many days now. This seemed as good a time as any to let them out.

Sir Malcolm looked down at the floor for a moment and sighed.

"I thought it might serve as a distraction," he said, finally.

"A distraction? From finding your daughter?" asked Vanessa.

"From the lack of progress," he said, looking back up and into Vanessa's eyes.

His eyes were like silver bullets, hers like the darkest part of the night.

She could see on his face the frustration he too held within and she could hear the pain in his voice.

"Perhaps... it's just what we need to focus our minds and re-adjust our thinking," Vanessa conceded, as delicately as possible. Truth be told, as concerned as she was, she was also dying to get out of that house, even just for one night.

"Excellent," said Sir Malcolm. "I'll have Sembene bring the carriage around at six."

"Perhaps one of these men of science can give us some insight into just what kind of creature this 'master' Mina spoke of is," Vanessa added.

Sir Malcolm blinked, then nodded, slightly, with his eyes cast down, and then without another word he turned and left her room, shutting the door behind him.

Vanessa knew she should get up and eat something or figure out what she would wear to the event that night, or at least wash her face, but she couldn't will herself to do any of that, so instead she went back to sleep for several more hours and dreamed of snarling beasts and fangs dripping with venom.

That night, at six exactly, however, she was up and bathed and dressed in a lovely dark blue gown with a black velvet hat adorned with raven feathers atop her elaborately done dark hair. She waited outside in front of the house next to Sir Malcolm who was in his formal tuxedo with his salt and pepper beard groomed to perfection. To look at them, you'd think they were a perfectly normal pair of London's upper class about to have just another night on the town, though, they were anything but.

Sembene, a tall, black man with scars on his face, brought the carriage around with stealth. Sir Malcolm helped Vanessa in and on they went to their destination, a large stone building just a few blocks away. The front was all alight with gas lamps and the street was teeming with the hustle and bustle of carriages and hansom cabs. A typical London gala.

Inside the institute was a far more surreal tableau. The main ball room was large and opulent as anyone might expect, with parquet floors and several enormous crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, but unexpectedly, everywhere you looked, the crowd of men in tuxedos and women in elaborate ball gowns were mingling among large cages filled with exotic birds and wild beasts, as well as several giant glass terrariums containing all manner of jungle plant-life. Each display had a plaque in front of it as well as velvet ropes to keep the party goers from getting too close, lest they might spill their champagne on one of the treasures. In the center of the room was something larger than any of the other displays, covered discreetly with a large white cloth.

"That must be the curiosity that was advertised," Vanessa said to Sir Malcolm as they made their entrance into the great room. He grunted in the affirmative. Almost immediately a waiter with an upturned nose approached them and offered them champagne. They each took a glass.

"So, Africa, that's your old stomping grounds," Vanessa said to her companion, trying to make conversation as they mingled into the crowd.

"Yes," was all Sir Malcolm said back.

He was going to make this just as awkward as ever, Vanessa realized, and took a large sip of her drink.

"Do you recognize anyone here..." Vanessa tried again, but then lost her train of thought as she looked around the room herself and caught sight of a beautiful young man with light brown hair and delicate features standing on the other side of the room. He looked like a figure out of a renaissance painting and he was staring right at her with what seemed like casual interest, at least it seemed to her that he was trying to be casual. His gray eyes gave her the strangest feeling. She met them with her own eyes and refused to look away from this mysterious and bold stranger.

"As a matter of fact... is that... old General Zaroff I see?" said Sir Malcolm's voice, suddenly, and it made Vanessa turn her attention back to him, breaking the odd connection between her and the stranger. When she looked back, the young man was gone.

"What?" she asked Sir Malcolm, in confusion.

"An old acquaintance from my days of the hunt," said Sir Malcolm, indicating with his head over towards a crowd of people who were all laughing at some joke or story they were being regaled with. Then a few of them walked away and Vanessa saw who they had been surrounding. He was an older man, or so his white hair would indicate, with thick black eyebrows and a military mustache to match. He gave the immediate impression of a forceful man, much like Sir Malcolm himself, but there was also an approachability in his smile. Sir Malcolm did not have that.

"Would you like to say hello?" Vanessa asked Sir Malcolm.

"Why not," he said. "I'll introduce you." And he took her arm in his and began to walk over toward the man.

As they approached, Sir Malcolm whispered into Vanessa's ear, "Take anything he says to you in stride, he's a Cossack."

That made Vanessa smile with bemusement, although she didn't quite know why, then she was at once hit by the fragrant perfume of the man's black cigarette, the smoke of which he exhaled upon seeing the two of them, which made her immediately frown.

"Is that Sir Malcolm Murray?" said the Cossack in a deep, continental voice.

"General, good to see you again," Sir Malcolm said, jovially, as the two men greeted each other with a firm handshake.

"This is my... ward, Ms. Vanessa Ives," he continued.

"A pleasure," said Vanessa, holding out her hand to the man.

"Vanessa, this is General Zaroff of the Tsar's royal army, said Malcolm.

"Charmed, I'm sure," said Vanessa, but she was not entirely sure. Now that she was up close and personal with this man, she got distinctly sinister vibes from him as he took her hand in his and gave it a soft kiss while bowing.

"Vanessa, from the Greek, meaning butterfly," said the general, smoothly. "You are a most beautiful creature, much like the butterfly."

"I prefer scorpions," Vanessa said with a smile. "But thank you, General."

"Ah, yes, the predators. Perhaps that does suit you better, my dear," said the general.

Then to Malcolm he said, "A rare find, old man," and gave him a bit of a wink.

"Actually, we sort of found each other," Vanessa was quick to interject.

Malcolm looked swiftly from her to the general and sensed some tension brewing, so he decided to change the subject.

"How have you been keeping, General? Last I heard you had said you were buying property on a small island in the Caribbean."

"Yes, I am very content there... now. The hunting is good," said the General, giving a lazy puff on his cigarette.

"What sort of game do you have there?" asked Sir Malcolm.

"Only the most dangerous," said the general. A mischievous glint came into his eyes. "You shall have to visit sometime. Bring your... ward." He glanced at Vanessa. "It will be just like our time in the Congo. You remember that, don't you, old man?"

Malcolm cleared his throat, nervously. Vanessa looked at him with curiosity as she had never seen him look nervous before.

"I... recall," he said, hollowly.

"The screams of the villagers as we flushed them out into the bush. The way they ran alongside the antelope, animals themselves practically," said the general, almost romantically.

"Yes, yes, I said I recall," said Sir Malcolm, tersely.

"Perhaps we should not talk of such ghoulish things in front of Ms. Ives, no?" said the general.

Vanessa's eyes flashed at the general like the sting of a scorpion's tail.

Just then, a large man with beady eyes and a dark beard that was so long it reached down to the red sash around his waist appeared silently next to the general and handed him a glass of brandy.

"Such a civilized place is London, isn't it," the general said to no one in particular as he regarded the drink. Then to Sir Malcolm he said, "You remember my man, Ivan, of course."

Malcolm regarded the large man and gave a small head nod. He mumbled something that sounded like, "howdoyoudo".

The man called Ivan said nothing, just stared.

"Do also remember he's deaf and dumb, old man," said the general. Then he took a sip of his drink and smiled contentedly.

"So what brings you all the way from your island to London, General?" asked Malcolm.

"As a matter of fact I came for what's under that sheet," he said, gesturing towards the large mysterious thing.

"Do you know what it is?" asked Vanessa.

"My sources have given me an idea," said the General, slyly. "I hope it lives up to the hype."

"I've been a bit out of the loop, I'm afraid," said Sir Malcolm, "When it comes to the subject of these more recent expeditions. My daughter, you see-"

"I do love London, though," the General interrupted. "The people all chirping and chattering about the streets like monkeys in the trees. The beautiful young ladies presenting their colorful plumage like exotic birds at all the fancy galas and balls." He glanced at Vanessa again and regarded her dress. She looked right back at him, stone faced. "Why, just yesterday I attended a wonderful party," the General continued, undeterred, "Hosted by Ferdinand Lyle and his 'wife'. Are you familiar?"

"No," said Sir Malcolm, simply. He was as stone faced as Vanessa.

"The man is an Egyptologist for The British Museum. I'm surprised you don't know him. He had some fascinating things to say on the subject of the wild life along The Nile. Second hand knowledge of course, but in this city it's a rare treat to find anyone even remotely worth talking too, so I let him prattle on." He puffed on his cigarette once more before continuing. "Brilliant man, Lyle. You simply must attend one of his parties. They're extraordinary. Bit of a poof, he is, but in this day and age who hasn't committed the sin of the Greeks once or twice, am I right?"

He glanced mischievously over at Ivan who was standing nearby, silent and steady.

"It was wonderful catching up with you, General Zaroff," Sir Malcolm interjected while he had the chance. "We must get together again sometime soon."

"I wasn't joking about you coming out to my island," said the general, pointedly. "You must come for a hunt."

Sir Malcolm smiled and nodded in a noncommittal way as he began to back away.

"General," said Vanessa, regarding him in the loosest sense of the word and she quickly followed Sir Malcolm away into the crowd.

General Zaroff and his manservant watched them carefully as they went. Vanessa glanced back for only an instant and met the general's eyes again, then quickly looked back ahead of her at Sir Malcolm. The general smiled to himself and then immediately switched expressions as he got a hold of another passing guest and began to talk to them, animatedly about firearms.

"You have interesting friends," said Vanessa, evenly, once they were off by themselves on the other side of the room. "What was that about African villagers?"

"I've done many things in my past I'm not proud of. Most of them in Africa. Most," said Sir Malcolm. He looked haunted but also a bit wistful.

Vanessa raised an eyebrow.

"Now I remember why I haven't spoken to that man in four years," Sir Malcolm growled.

Vanessa made to say something.

"Vanessa?" said a high-pitched, feminine voice, and it stole her attention away from the man standing next to her, who apparently had more secrets then she had ever realized. She turned to see a petite woman, only slightly younger than herself, with a round face and even rounder spectacles. Her wavy, mousy brown hair was pulled back on the sides and clipped in the back where the rest of it flowed down and over the shoulders of the yellow dress she wore.

"Jane?" Vanessa said, incredulously. "Jane Porter?"

"Yes," said the woman called Jane, smiling. "It's been ages. How are you?" She had an American accent. Specifically, an eastern one.

"Oh, I'm... A lot has happened since I saw you last," Vanessa said. She tried to smile too.

"I can't believe we lost touch," said Jane. "You were by far the most interesting girl I met while at Malory Towers."

Sir Malcolm cleared his throat to remind Vanessa that he was still there, practically standing between her and this woman who was a stranger to him.

"Sir Malcolm Murray, this is Jane Porter, an old friend of mine from school," Vanessa said.

He and the girl said their how-do-you-dos and then Sir Malcolm turned, curiously, to Vanessa.

"School?" he asked.

"Malory Towers School For Girls. I started there in my early teens. You were out of the country at the time, and I had... left the school by the time you returned," said Vanessa with a tinge of guilt in her voice.

"Ah," was Sir Malcolm's only response.

"Yes, we were all devastated when you did," said Jane. "Us younger girls looked up to you. Vanessa Ives, the girl with no fear. You got me into so much trouble back then."

"Yes, I remember the canings," said Vanessa. "You and me together in the headmistresses office."

Now it was Malcolm's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"What are you doing back here in London?" Vanessa asked her friend.

"My father is the guest of honor. He is Archimedes Q. Porter," said Jane.

Vanessa tried to remember if she had known that, but realized that she never had.

"Of course," she said. "I had forgotten, but I do remember you speaking about your father."

"Speak of the devil," said Jane as a small, gray-haired old gentleman with round spectacles like hers, only larger, approached and gave her a peck on the cheek. He wore tweeds and a bow tie. A picture of scholarly stuffiness.

"Papa, this is Vanessa Ives, my old school chum I told you about. The taxidermist."

The professor looked at Vanessa with interest, but it was clear he didn't recall the name.

"Not since I was a girl," said Vanessa, demurely.

"Remarkable," was all Professor Porter said.

"Professor Porter, it's wonderful to finally meet you in person. I've followed your anthropological work for many years. My name is Sir Malcolm Murray," said Sir Malcolm, suddenly stepping forward and taking the man's hand.

"I know of you as well, Sir Malcolm. 'The Great White Hunter' as it were. I've read your book," said the professor.

He turned to his daughter.

"I study exotic creatures for a living and this man comes along and kills them," He said with a scoff, gesturing dismissively with his thumb to Sir Malcolm, who didn't quite know how to take that so he cleared his throat as usual.

"Yes, well, you've got an interesting collection of specimens here," he said to the professor.

The old man laughed, merrily.

"Yes, allow me to show you one I think you'll find quite interesting. A rare albino crocodile me and my party picked up along the Amazon," he said and put his hand on Malcolm's shoulder to lead him away. Sir Malcolm went along, reluctantly, not knowing if this man regarded him with contempt or comradery. So far, he was not having as good a time as he thought he would at this function.

Vanessa watched him go with a wicked smile and then Jane grabbed both of her hands and began to pull her along as well, in the opposite direction.

"Come, I want to show you something too," she said.

She lead Vanessa over to one of the glass terrariums containing a bush full of beautiful purple flowers. The plaque in front of it said, _Impala Lily._

"This is my favorite flower that we came across in Africa," she said gesturing to the plant.

"You went to Africa with your father?" Vanessa asked in surprise.

"Oh yes, it was quite the expedition. The crew of the ship we were on mutinied and abandoned us on the coast."

Vanessa's eyes widened.

"There was a treasure chest full of gold, I was attacked by a lioness, kidnapped by an ape, I can't tell you how exciting it all was," said Jane. Her voice filled with wonder.

"You always were so adventurous," said Vanessa with admiration.

"But the best part is over there, under that sheet," said Jane, pointing to the great mystery.

"Can you tell me what it is?" Vanessa whispered, leaning in towards her friend.

"I think you'll find out soon enough," said Jane.

Vanessa followed her gaze over to a man in a white linen suit who was walking towards the center of the room where the covered thing was. He took his place behind a podium that had been placed there and raised his hands for silence. Slowly the chattering crowd grew quiet. The man introduced himself as Dr. Moreau and proceeded to give a long, almost unhinged, speech that quickly went from being about biology to being about vivisection and interspecies breeding. He lost the crowd towards the end and eventually Professor Porter had to politely usher him off and take his place.

Jane stood next to Vanessa and squeezed her hand as her father began to speak and Sir Malcolm appeared from out of the crowd to rejoin the ladies.

"Remarkable, Doctor, simply remarkable," Professor Porter said, clapping lamely as the audience did the same. "Now, ladies and gentlemen I hope you've all been enjoying the many delights I've brought back here to civilization to share with you. For those who don't know, my name is Professor Archimedes Q. Porter and I am one of America's leading anthropological zoologists. Recently me and some associates had the good fortune to go on an expedition to the coast of Africa where we discovered many of the wonderful things you see around you. There is one in particular, however, that is exceptionally remarkable."

The whole room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the white sheet to be removed, but instead, the professor went on.

"For those unaware, the jungles of Africa are a most unhospitable place for civilized man. We were immediately beset upon by all manner of beast and might not have survived if not for the intervention of a savage stranger. No, not one of the local negroes, this was no mere man, this was something more."

The professor stood away from the large object as two young men pulled the sheet off from the back revealing a large cage shaped like a bell. Inside, crouched among some potted jungle foliage was a half naked white man with long, dark hair. His muscular arms, chest, and legs were also covered in hair. His modesty was only just barely concealed by a loincloth made out of the smooth fur of an animal. Once he was exposed to the crowd he bared his teeth and shrank away, throwing his arm out in protection like a wild ape.

The well dressed crowd gasped and one particularly dramatic woman fainted.

Sir Malcolm looked at the creature with curiosity, as did General Zaroff, more so. Vanessa's first reaction was of worried compassion and when she glanced at her friend next to her, she saw that she too felt something for this poor man, but hid it well. Sembene, who had spent the night near the entrance with most of the other servants, and who had flinched upon the professor's mention of negroes, looked at the thing in the cage with a mix of pity and shame.

Once the majority of the assemblage had gotten a hold of themselves Professor Porter said, "Yes, that is a white man. A feral white man, discovered living in the jungles of Africa amongst apes."

People began to chatter excitedly amongst themselves. Vanessa looked closer at the frightened man in the cage as he became agitated by all the noise. She noticed he had severe scars on his scalp, chest and neck as if he'd been attacked by a vicious animal, or several. She let go of Jane's hand and stepped toward the cage as though pulled there by an unseen force.

"Now, now," cried the professor to the crowd, "You may all step a bit closer, but not too close. You must regard this man as you would a wild beast, for that is who he was raised by."

"Who is he?" called out a random man.

"Is he an englishman?" called another.

Some of the crowd laughed at that.

The professor chortled and raised his hands to calm everyone. "Yes, yes, I will take questions now, but you must let me call on you."

Everyone got quiet.

"To answer the first question," said the professor, "his true identity remains a mystery. All we really know is that he appears to have lived on his own in the jungle from a very young age. Some of London's top physicians have examined him, while sedated, and have found scar tissue on his body that is believed to have been gained in late adolescence. It is the opinion of me and my colleagues that this man grew up, possibly from infancy, having no contact with any other human beings, at least for the majority of his formative years. Yes, what's your question, sir?"

"Can he speak?" asked a young gentleman who had raised his hand, after the professor pointed at him.

"When we first discovered him he didn't seem to be able to speak any human language," said the professor, "Although we did observe him communicating with several animals, including elephants, snakes, and of course, the apes who raised him."

Everyone was astounded by that and made several surprised noises and gestures.

"Curiously enough, though," the professor went on, "He can write in perfect english."

The crowd reacted with puzzlement.

"Yes, that's actually how we discovered his name in fact, you see he had posted up signs in the jungle warning us that we were trespassing there and that he was Tarzan, king of the apes," said the professor.

The crowd laughed, slightly.

"We believe he taught himself to write using old primary books that were found in an abandoned cabin not too far from the sea shore, which is what lead us to believe he had been there from a young age. Clearly the structure was built by whomever brought the boy to that ungodly place, perhaps castaways from a sinking ship. Yes, you, madame?"

"What other things were found in the cabin?" asked an older lady.

"Not much, I'm afraid," said the professor. "We took this well worn knife off him as well as this bow and arrow set stolen from a nearby tribe of africans, who regarded him as a malevolent spirit or god of some sort." The professor held up the artifacts as they were handed to him by some aides.

"You say he knew no language when you found him," said a man with his hand up, "Does he speak at all now?"

"Um, yes, well, a bit, yes," said the professor, flustered. "But sadly... only to my daughter."

The crowd laughed again, loudly, and Tarzan reacted to their noises with fear and agitation, crawling to the side of his cage that had the fewest people near it. Where Vanessa and Jane were.

Vanessa looked at Tarzan, at his gray eyes and followed them over to Jane who was looking right back at him sorrowfully. She sensed something between the two, something primal.

"My dear, would you please give us a demonstration?" cried Professor Porter, beckoning into the crowd toward Jane.

Jane blushed at having the whole room's attention aimed at her, but dutifully approached the cage. She stood next to Vanessa and held onto the bars with both hands. Tarzan scrambled to her and put his hands over hers.

The crowd gasped. Vanessa put her hand to her breast.

Jane freed one of her hands from his grasp and stuck it inside the cage. Tarzan met it with his and they interlocked their fingers together, tenderly.

"Me... Tarzan," said Tarzan. "You... Jane."

The crowd applauded softly, mostly for the perceived bravery of this young girl, who dared to get so close to what their sheltered minds could have only seen as a monster.

"like a parrot," said someone in the crowd, loudly.

Vanessa gave them a dirty look, but most everyone else laughed.

Professor Porter did not laugh, but walked over and gently, but firmly pulled his daughter away from the wild man. Their hands slipped apart.

"I believe that's enough of that," he said, then turned back to the crowd.

"Not since Peter the wild boy, who so bemused the court of King George the first just a century ago here in England, has there been such a strange answer to what separates man from beast. But for the grace of God, it could be anyone of us here tonight behind those bars. What thin line separates the civilized man from the barbarism of the ape?"

Suddenly Vanessa looked over to where General Zaroff had been standing, but saw no sign of him or his manservant. She glanced around the room quickly, but saw him nowhere. She thought it odd that he would miss this, after speaking of being so intrigued by it.

Professor Porter began to lead his daughter further from the cage, and as he did so, Tarzan began to hoot and holler, reaching through the bars after her. She turned and gave him a wistful look. He grabbed the bars and began to rattle them.

The crowd oohed and awed at the spectacle. Malcolm tensed up, having seen this kind of frenzy overtake many an ape first hand before.

Vanessa looked to the aides near the cage who were brandishing syringes and heading towards Tarzan.

"What's in those?" she demanded of one of them.

"Just a sedative, lady, step aside," the aide answered, as he pushed past her.

Tarzan, apparently recognizing them, or their instruments, backed away from the bars and towards the other side of the cage where the door was. He made howling sounds and cried, "Jane!"

Jane looked back at him again, as her father tried to push her further through the crowd to the exit.

"You're agitating him," he admonished her. "It was a mistake letting you come."

Tarzan backed into the door of the cage hard and to everyone's surprise and horror, it swung open, the padlock that had been keeping it secure fell to the floor, open and useless.

"He'll kill us all!" shrieked an old woman.

Immediately the crowd erupted into panic and began screaming and running this way and that. Tarzan stood still. Astonished at being suddenly free again after spending so many days held captive in one way or another. He wasn't quite sure what to do next. Then he saw the men with the syringes coming at him and he immediately thought of his own weapons. He had seen them be placed off to the side on a table and so he made a mad dash for it.

Vanessa ran to Malcolm.

"What should we do?" she asked him.

"Hope that they can get him under control I rather figure," said Malcolm, looking towards the chaotic scene.

The men had cornered Tarzan against the table that held his tools. Tarzan quickly grabbed his bow and arrow and fired off a shot into the shoulder of his nearest attacker. The man dropped his syringe and fell to his knees in pain. Blood gushed from the wound. The other man seized the opportunity and lunged at Tarzan to stick him, but Tarzan turned with the reflexes of a jaguar and grabbed the syringe from the man's hand, then used it on him as he had learned from experience it was used. The man fell unconscious immediately.

"He's a maniac!" cried a man, running over his wife to get to the exit.

"Someone has to stop him," said Malcolm. He glanced over to where some firearms were displayed in a glass case.

Vanessa followed him as he made his way to them.

"You can't just gun him down like an animal," she said.

"I'll only wound him," said Malcolm, "he's going to hurt someone."

"He was docile with Jane. He only wants her," Vanessa said. She looked around, but could not see her friend of the professor anywhere.

Malcolm elbowed the glass of the case and pulled out a rifle, he examined it and then threw it down and grabbed a pistol.

"Blast, none of these are loaded and there's no ammo. Did no one here think to have guns at the ready in case one of these animals got loose?"

Tarzan regarded the enemies now at his feet, the man with the arrow in him tried to pull it out, but then fainted from the pain. Tarzan stuck his knife in the belt of his loincloth and the arrow and quiver onto his back and began to climb a nearby curtain. At that point, most of the crowd had escaped into the streets, save for the curious few who wanted to see what the wild man would do next. What he did, after reaching the top of the high curtains was leap onto a chandelier and swing on it to the next. His wait was too much and the first chandelier broke loose its rope and crashed to the ground, hitting the edge of the albino crocodile's enclosure. Water gushed out, along with the reptile, which began snapping at nearby people. Tarzan looked down at what he had done and saw the crocodile moving towards a particularly helpless looking young woman who had tripped over her own dress while trying to flee. He threw himself down from the chandelier, which luckily did not fall, and landed on the back of the beast. It thrashed around trying to throw the ape man off, but Tarzan held his seat. He quickly brandished his large knife and plunged it down into the skull of the great beast, which hissed in pain and began to roll. Tarzan wouldn't let it though, he he held the knife like a helm and forced the croc to stay upright, twisting the blade as he did so. Malcolm, Vanessa and everyone else in the room watched in awe as they got a firsthand glimpse of the primeval world they had come there to see trappings of.

The crocodile began to thrash less as it's brain died. Tarzan straddled its neck and with his two mighty hands grabbed the jaws of the beast and ripped them apart.

Vanessa turned away and buried her face in the shoulder of Sir Malcolm who looked on in fascination.

Dark blood poured out of the crocodiles mouth and mingled with the water on the parquet floor. Tarzan stood up, still holding the head of his slain enemy in one hand. With the other hand he began to mindlessly play with the unhinged and broken jaw, then he let the beast fall to the floor, quite dead. He knelt and pulled his knife out of the croc's hyde, then he looked at the woman whose life he had saved, who still lie on the ground, regarding him in horror. He began to beat his chest and yell an ungodly yell that was neither beast nor man.

"Tarzan!" called out Vanessa, suddenly, and he became immediately silent. He looked over to her like an admonished child. Their eyes met briefly, but neither him nor her had time to say anything further, however, as a dozen police officers came pouring into the room through the front entrance.

Some of them began to slip and slide on the wet and gory floor, but the ones who kept their balance drew their revolvers and began firing at the ape man. Tarzan sheathed his knife and retreated from the officers towards a large window. Without thinking, or perhaps even knowing there was a barrier there at all, he threw himself through the glass and out into the dark night.

Several officers ran to the window and continued to fire blindly into the dark streets of London, the smarter ones regrouped and went back the way they had come to chase after him.

"Let's follow them," Malcolm said to Vanessa, and they did just that.

Outside were parked several black marias, with more arriving as Malcolm and Vanessa made their way down the grand steps. People were everywhere, talking animatedly about what had happened. The streets were clogged with not only people who had witnessed the event first hand, but other denizens of London who had heard the commotion and come out of their homes to see what all the fuss was about.

"Vanessa!" cried Jane, and she ran over to her and embraced her. "You were still in there? What happened? Are you okay?" she asked in a panic.

"He... fought a crocodile. The... muscles," said Vanessa, in a state of shock.

"Did he kill anyone?" asked Professor Porter, joining them.

"He wounded two men, but only killed the reptile," said Malcolm.

"Oh, thank God," said the professor. "What a mess. What a mess this night has become."

"Did they kill him?" asked Jane, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

"He... escaped," said Vanessa.

"Yes," said Malcolm, "Out the back. I believe the police are pursuing him now."

Jane's face brightened, while her father's fell.

"Oh my God," said the professor. "You mean that monster is loose in this city?"

"The monster you brought here?" asked Vanessa, suddenly back to her senses and furious.

"I'm going to be held responsible for this," the professor said, ignoring her. "Already a priceless albino crocodile has been lost and now the greatest anthropological find of the century is running around London armed. They'll kill him for sure."

Jane gasped and held her hands over her mouth.

"I... believe he might be looking for something in particular," said Vanessa, eyeing her friend. "I believe he's going to be coming after Jane."

Malcolm looked at Vanessa.

"You must take her back to the house at once," he said.

"No," said the professor, "I'll take her back to the hotel and-"

"You need to stay here and answer for this chaos," Malcolm said, pointedly. "My house has an armory, this man does not know its location, therefore won't think to look for her there. She'll be safe there with Vanessa."

"What about you?" asked Vanessa, just as Sembene pulled up behind her in the carriage.

"I'll stay here and see if I can assist in the manhunt in some way," answered Malcolm. He helped his young ward and her friend into the vehicle and then added, "Anyone with tracking skills will be useful in the endeavour to catch this person."

Vanessa nodded solemnly and closed the door. "Please try to capture him alive," she said.

"I'll do my best," he answered.

Professor Porter just stood there and watched as his daughter was separated from him. He could think of no better option, though. He knew of Sir Malcolm and knew that this matter was much better suited to his expertise and judgement rather than his own, so he conceited. He was a man of science who had nearly died several times on his many expeditions, being saved only by dumb luck and divine intervention each time. Malcolm was a man of action, who had survived dangers unimaginable through sheer grit and formidability.

The carriage took off at a brisk pace.

"What should I do?" Profesor Porter asked.

"Go talk to them," he said, pointing roughly to the police. "They'll need all the information you can give them."

"Yes, right, good show," said the professor, and he scurried off, leaving Malcolm to stand there looking around as he tried to reason out what he himself would do next. That's when he spied his old friend, General Zaroff, standing beside his own carriage loading a 22. pistol revolver. His manservant, Ivan, was next to him holding open a wooden box lined with velvet that contained silver bullets that glinted in the moonlight.

"Are you going after him too," Malcolm asked as he approached the general.

"Of course, old man. The hunt is on!" said Zaroff.

Malcolm eyed the weapon.

"A rather small gun," he said.

"Adds to the challenge," said Zaroff, not taking his eyes off of the task at hand.

"Why silver bullets?" asked Malcolm.

"Well, we don't really know what we're dealing with here do we? May be more than a mere human being." answered Zaroff.

"Or it might be just a poor frightened man loose in an alien environment he has no possible way of understanding," countered Malcolm. "He's weak and hungry, no doubt, running on pure instinct. He'll be easy to catch."

"I very much doubt that," Zaroff said simply. "I know weakness, and that's not what I saw in there. I don't prey on the weak. Animals do that, because they don't know any better. They follow primitive logic, doing things easily in order to eat and conserve their energy. The evolved brain, however, the brain of a man, knows that there is no greater achievement than hunting that which can hunt you.

"What in hell are you talking about, man?" spat Malcolm.

"Being a lion hunting a gazelle provides no challenge compared to being a man hunting a lion. You know that as well as I, Malcolm," said Zaroff with a madness in his eyes. "Or being a man hunting another man."

Malcolm regarded his old friend as if a complete stranger was standing in front of him, and yet, part of him did recognize that cool, calculating blood thirstiness he had always known in him, now taken to its most horrible and inevitable conclusion.

"You seem oddly prepared for these turn of events," he said, tersely.

"What's the point of reaching the top of the food chain if you can't hold your position by killing all that seek to supplant you?" said Zaroff, spinning the chamber on his gun after the last bullet was inserted and slamming it into place.

"I know you know my words ring true, Malcolm, deep in your old bones. You miss the hunt don't you?"

Zaroff got close to Malcolm, who eyed him defiantly.

"You had something to do with this disaster, didn't you?" Malcolm growled.

"My source I mentioned earlier, the one who told me about this extraordinary find, also provided me with a spare key to its enclosure... after some convincing. It was nothing for Ivan to surreptitiously get close enough to the exhibit to reach under the cloth and unlock the door."

Ivan glared at Malcolm with a smug expression on his face.

Malcolm furiously moved toward Zaroff, who showed no fear or concern.

"All so you could have the satisfaction of going after this man? Hunting a human being?" he spat.

"He is much more than that," Zaroff said, almost with reverence. "He's the perfect middle of both worlds, beast and man. Truly the most dangerous adversary I could ever dream of pursuing."

"You've gone mad," said Malcolm, simply. "And you will answer for this to the authorities."

"Will I?" said Zaroff with a small laugh. He placed his gun into a holster at his hip, and moved oh so gracefully towards Sir Malcolm. Ivan stayed still, aware that his master could more than handle himself.

"If I were you, Malcolm, I wouldn't make idle threats. I have many, many more friends in this city than you do. By the way, how is your family doing these days? I remember that nasty business with your son some years back, but what about your wife and that lovely daughter of yours? Dear Mina."

Malcolm sprang forward faster than the average man of his age would have been able to; like a man possessed, or a striking lion.

Quicker still, though, was Zaroff, who pulled his pistol in a flash and cracked Sir Malcolm square in the temple with its handle. Malcolm fell on the ground, unconscious and bleeding slightly.

"Time is wasting," Zaroff said, turning to Ivan. "Leave him to the street rats."

He climbed into his vehicle regally and then leaned out the window as Ivan shut the door for him.

"On second thought, pick him up and put him in the other side, I think I'd like him to be present on this adventure."

Ivan nodded silently and did as he was told. Then he climbed up to the box seat and urged the horses on. The carriage rode past the frantic survivors that filled the streets, past the police who were organizing armed search teams, past the mobs of Londoners who were also armed now and ready to take matters into their own hands, past the professor who held his head in his hands as he explained everything to a police chief, and drove off into the night, while high above the scene the shadowy figure of a wild man leapt from rooftop to rooftop in the direction of Malcolm Murray's home.


End file.
